


Early

by ussgallifrey221b



Series: To Build a Home [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Medical, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Sick Character, dad!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussgallifrey221b/pseuds/ussgallifrey221b
Summary: This wasn't how it was supposed to be - he came, and he came way too fucking early.





	Early

**Author's Note:**

> As a NICU parent myself, let me just say: it sucks. It sucks so much. And big nasty emotions tend to bubble up and surge forward with stunning explosions because of it.

You had spent a full month comparing names, lists never quite matching up.  _ Anthony _ was out - Steve had named his son that. And  _ Steven _ was too much for a baby to live up to, obviously.  _ Maybe a middle name? _ he had mused late one night in bed, hand splayed over the growing bump. You had gone over family trees for inspiration.  _ I have Michaels, and Benjamins, and Hirams, and a Silas. Silas Barnes, whaddya think of that, babe? _ you had laughed.

Would he sleep in Becca's room? Was she even old enough for that yet? Should he get his own or sleep in your room? God, what colors should you paint the room? Do you use the pack n' play or buy a new bassinet? A co-sleeper, honey, are you crazy? This onesie or the gray one? Elephant plush or dinosaur? Timothy, what do you think of Timothy? After Dum Dum? How about Gabe? Gabriel? I like that. Gabriel James Barnes.

It didn't matter now. None of those arguments or stupid late night ramblings mattered.

"Barnes. Mother. 1972381."

_ "Just a moment, Mrs. Barnes." _

You hang up the phone and turn to eye the SHIELD agent mopping the floor by the elevator. The soft sounds of the TV in the waiting room merging with the wet  _ swishes _ of the mop. A small  _ buzz _ , then the doors to the ward are opening. The lights are blindingly bright in the hallway, compared to the rest of the dimmed hospital. Placing the small container of milk on top of the long sink, you roll up the sleeves of your robe and push the hospital band higher on your forearm. Lathering the harsh soap into your cracked hands, the three-minute video starts playing as the sink starts up. Eyes dully watching the digital clock below the monitor.

_ "Talk to our dedicated staff about our Kangaroo care options." _

You roll your eyes as rub up and down your arms. The video finishes and the sink shuts off. Drying your hands on the rough paper towels, you grab the milk and make your way down the hall. It's quiet. It always is. Babies don't cry here. Parents do. Mothers and fathers broken by circumstance. Words of support and pictures of healthy children line the halls. The  _ clicking _ of a keyboard from the office as the night shift nurse peers out at you. Your swollen feet softly stepping down the worn path to room five. Grabbing a mask from the dispenser outside the door before quietly making your way inside.

Karen, the room nurse, types away on her computer, soft light falling from under the cabinets.  _ Beeps _ and  _ hums _ from the monitors of six covered isolettes. She turns with a warm smile when you grab one of the disposable nipples from the counter.

"Hey momma, he just woke up. I already got his temp and diaper for ya."

You nod numbly, "Thank you."

She's probably used to that at this point: the distant stare in people's eyes, desensitized from too many tears.

Securing it on top of the small container, you make your way to the middle isolette, with its blue bear quilt and little name card - written in swirly letters:  _ Gabriel. _

The quilt is already pulled up on the side. You shrug into the colorful star-patterned robe. Setting the milk down on the table next to the recliner, you open the latched door. The temperature is warm inside as you reach out a finger to lightly touch his cheek.

"Hey, little man."

His face is scrunched, nasal cannulas held in place by two round patches of clear tape on his cheeks. Monitor wires poke out from the bottom of his swaddle. Moving them off the hook by the isolette door, they drop to the floor. Awkwardly reaching in to lift him out through the small opening, keeping him steady as you settle into the chair, sweeping the wires to the side by your feet.

"Nice and easy, mister." Angling his head up to take the bottle, moving the position when he brushes against the oxygen feed. It takes a moment before he's truly latched and eating.

His heart rate  _ beeps _ on the monitor above you, jumping high before slowly evening out to an easy 110. He's doing better, taking in 2mL this time and keeping most of it down after burping. You hold him close on your shoulder, rocking gently in the recliner. Readjusting the little knit cap covering his small head.

You watch the sunrise beyond the white mesh curtains covering the windows. Alex, the morning shift nurse, takes over for the room. Carefully checking the monitors of the twins, the little girl in the corner, the two on either side of you.

"How'd he do?" He asks softly.

You gesture with your head towards the bottle, "2mL this time."

He nods, writing it down before moving to sit at the computer.  


No one ever gives you a time limit, tells you to leave and go back to your room. But you feel like you are expected to. Take his temp, change the diaper, feed, burp, then leave. How can you though? So tiny and alone in this room. He needs you. Needs to feel your touch, your voice, your heart.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Six or seven more weeks and you were going to be ready. The bassinet was still in the box in the spare room. Clothes, that were now too big anyway, were unwashed. This wasn't the plan. You weren't prepared for this, even though you were helplessly thrown into it. Things like this were caught early, people were able to expect the situation and mentally prepare for it. It just happened so  _ fast _ .

You readjust your hold, carefully moving him higher on your shoulder as the oxygen read starts dropping.  


It was Braxton Hicks, it had to be. You remembered them from Rebecca. Taking a bath, while Bucky put her down to sleep, to soothe the tight pain in your stomach. But when you were drying off, you saw the little drops of blood running down your leg. It wasn't spotting. It was blood. You had steeled yourself as your heart began to race, carefully cleaning yourself up before opening the door to call for Bucky.

The panic in your voice must have been obvious as he came running up the stairs with wild eyes, hands reaching for you as you dropped your head.

_ "We need to go to the hospital." _

There was no stopping it, no delaying it. He came. And he came way too fucking early. Bucky was nothing short of terrified, panic rising in his throat as you cried and pushed and screamed. He was whisked off to a group of specialists almost immediately. You watched helplessly as they flitted around with masks and towels as your baby wailed. You delivered the afterbirth and were cleaned up and you watched them placing a mask over his face. Bucky's arm creaked on the bed rail as he squeezed down. He was taken from the room. You never got to hold him.  


The attending pediatrician came in and explained the situation. They didn't have the proper equipment, he needed to be in a NICU. You had both nodded numbly, emotionally spent. The obstetrician told you that sometimes these things just happen and there's no warning signs. But he was going to be just fine, he was strong. He was transferred onto a gurney. Strapped in with bright yellow-green harnesses over a portable incubator. And you never got to hold him.

You discharged yourself early the next day, driving an hour away to the larger hospital with a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  


You weren't letting him go now, now that he was safe in your arms. Fingers rubbing little circles along his back as he sleeps.

They never outwardly said for you to leave, but they would gently hint and push. Alex does another set of rounds, stopping in front of the chair once more.

"The cafeteria just started serving breakfast for the day, Mrs. Barnes. Need to keep your intake up for this little guy."

You hum in reply, savoring one minute more, before slowly standing and moving him back into the protective isolette. Pressing a kiss to your fingers and placing it on his temple.

"I'll be back soon, baby boy."

Closing the door and draping the quilt back over him. Shrugging out of the gown to put in the linen container, throwing away the mask.

He's waiting for you outside the ward's doors. The dark rings under his eyes do nothing to sway you as you brush past him.

A new agent is wiping down the glass case by the elevator now. You don't like the look in her eyes, that sorrowful smile. Bucky follows you, walking just far enough behind. You take the elevator down to the ground floor. His eyes are burning a hole into your arm, but you refuse to look.  


Exiting the elevator onto the busy floor, you make down a hallway away from the visitors and staff, he follows. Turning down a side hall, quiet and undisturbed. Leaning against the cold wall next to a rolling maintenance cart. He leans against the opposite wall, waiting.

"I can be strong here. I can do the feeds and walk down there every three hours. But I can't keep doing this on my own," you bite. Red-rimmed eyes boldly staring up at him.

He collapses, eyes closed as he breathes out, "I'm sorry, I just - I can't - "

"Can't _what_? Be there for our son?" He flinches. "Get over yourself and fucking _help_ _me_ , Bucky."

He stares, mouth gaping slightly. And then he's pushing off the wall, wrapping you into a tight embrace as you break down. Every moment of the past six days rushing through your mind, tears you didn't know you could still shed come cascading out with heaving sobs. He lets you slobber and snot on his shirt. Wipes the last of the tears from your face with his sleeve. Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, holding back his own emotions for your sake.

You return to the room you had been given. Assuming that Bucky had managed to pull some strings to get you a stay-over room for parents that didn't live in the city. Convincing you to sleep,  _ just for a little bit, baby _ .  _ You're still recovering, get it while you can _ .

He didn't go down, the entire stay he remained outside the ward. They told him his arm was too much of a hazard, it couldn't be properly disinfected. But you knew it wasn't just that. He was scared. It had taken a massive amount of effort to have him hold Rebecca when she was born. And she was a healthy full-term baby. Gabe, he was too small; too fragile. You felt guilty for so many things - you knew, logically, it wasn't your fault, but something in your head kept saying you did this to your son. Bucky, God only knows what was going on in his head, because he wouldn't talk about it. He was holding back from you, keeping his worries to himself. It was torture on top of the massacre you were experiencing.

The alarm doesn't go off. You wake up naturally in the small twin-sized bed. Mouth dry with sleep, head foggy from actual  _ sleep _ . But you stare at the clock and just about cry. The alarm wasn't there. And Bucky wasn't anywhere in sight.

You tried to pump as much as you could, just over 4mL this time. Hurrying down the hallway to the elevator, cursing the clock and your husband all the way. Of course, he wasn't there - he hadn't been for almost a week. Desperately grabbing the phone to the ward, you give the repeated phrase - not even needing to look at the hospital band for your number now.

"Barnes. Mother. 1972381."

_ "Yup, just one second." _

You hate the washing station with every fiber of your existence. It takes too long and it's keeping you from your son. Your son who needs you and is probably hungry and they should have called you, they should have called you down when you didn't show.  


Ripping off the towels to furiously dry your hands, you walk with a quickened pace to room five. Mask on, opening the door, and your heart stops.

Bucky glances over the brim of the face mask. Your hands drop as you slowly approach the recliner. Gabriel is curled up against his chest, face to the side, chest rising slowly. Tears well up as you kneel down next to the armrest.

"Hey."

"Hey," you exhale with a broken cry.

He shifts in the chair, carefully cradling Gabe with his right arm. You numbly realize he's doing it one-handed, the vibranium arm is gone.

"I'm sorry - " he starts, eyes clouded.

" _ Don't, _ just don't."

He gives a little nod. Alex pulls up a spare chair for you to sit in and takes the milk from you to put in the mini fridge.  


This wasn't how it was supposed to be. But like everything life threw your way, you were going to do it together. You sit next to Bucky, leaning your head against his covered shoulder, staring down at the tiny babe in his arms. The soft  _ beeps _ and  _ hums _ of the monitor the only sound.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on my [Tumblr](https://ussgallifreyfics.tumblr.com).


End file.
